


Limbo

by A Passing Housewife (flourchildwrites)



Series: Fullmetal Alchemist Tumblr Events [4]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Business Trip, Coffee Break, F/M, Fluffy Ending, Home Prompt, References to Depression, Royai Week, Royai Week 2018, Secret Relationship, Social drinking, Temperance Prompt, irritating coworkers, seasons prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-23 05:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14927714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flourchildwrites/pseuds/A%20Passing%20Housewife
Summary: Riza Hawkeye is stuck at the bottom of a wishing well, drowning ever so slowly in the hopes and dreams of her comrades.  She looks in the mirror and doesn’t recognize the face staring back at her as her soul leaks emotions like a sieve.  A business trip, her colonel thinks, will give them an opportunity to reconnect, but who will he find waiting for him in the low light of his favorite Central City bar?  This is the story of how Riza, the Hawk’s Eye and Elizabeth collide.Written for Royai Week 2018





	1. Temperance

**Day 4:  Temperance**

Riza Hawkeye came by her penchant for self-sacrifice honestly, and on most days, she wore temperance well.  She didn’t flaunt her capacity to deny herself fattening food and decadent drink, nor did she look down upon those who chose to indulge in casual sex or the occasional cigarette.  If she had, working with someone like Jean Havoc would have been damn near impossible.  Although, as things stood, the walls of Eastern Command closed in a little more with each passing day.

And truth be told, the emptiness Riza felt had not manifested overnight.  On the contrary, the pressure had been building for weeks.  Small, insignificant aggravations now loomed over the markswoman as daily reminders of the stark difference between her and the rest of Team Mustang.  Their emotions seemed to endure, to last whereas she felt stuck at the bottom of a wishing well, suffocated by the fruitful hopes of others.

Fuery had his machines.  Noisy, bulky contraptions that hissed static at the first lieutenant from open till close, but the master sergeant maintained his bespectacled grin as if he had no other face to wear.  Of course, Breda often commented on the commotion, spouting a clever wisecrack that Falman dignified with an understated guffaw.  And what room did they have to make light of Fuery’s passion?  Unbridled enthusiasm was preferable to snarky cynicism any day. 

Although after overhearing Havoc’s conversation with their fearless leader, Riza was willing to revise that sentiment.

“I’m telling you, boss,” Havoc swooned with starry eyes as he kicked back in his office chair, feet balanced on the edge of Roy’s desk, “this new girl is something else, a real looker.  Tight curves and a voice like honey.  I think I’m in love.”

“Love, huh,” Mustang responded with vague interest.  He shot Havoc a smirk that encouraged rather than dissuaded the second lieutenant’s sordid stream of consciousness.  “Bet she doesn’t hold a candle to the lovely lady I escorted this past weekend... but I can’t say any more about it.”

“Ah, Colonel!” Havoc exclaimed.  “How can you leave me hanging like that?”

“Because a gentleman never kisses and tells Havoc,” Roy shrugged with more than a hint of braggadocio.

“Not that we have any of those lying around,” Riza hissed under her breath as she forged Roy’s name with practiced ease.  Hawkeye set aside the assessment notice with more force than intended and was surprised when the hustle and bustle of their shared office diminished in favor of pointed stares.  Not even Fuery’s communication equipment broke the brittle stillness.  The damn machines things never made noise when she wanted them to.

“I wasn’t aware our conversation was bothering you, lieutenant,” Roy said with an even-keel.  Riza’s gaze remained downcast as she stood up abruptly.  The sound of her chair scraping the floor made the markswoman wince.

“My apologies, sir,” she responded with as much professionalism as she could muster.  “Your private conversation doesn’t concern me.  If you’ll excuse me a minute, I need some coffee.”  Hawkeye fled the office as fast as her legs could carry her.

* * *

 A disheveled Riza shoved the break room door open with frustration behind her force.  She breathed a small sigh of relief as she surveyed the empty room from corner to corner, sweeping her blond bangs to one side.  Only the quick hand of the clock on the back wall broke the silence as it audibly counted the passing seconds, and Riza’s frown deepened when she took note of the hour.  It was only 11:28 a.m.  There was a full half-day between Hawkeye and the place she kept her things.  Calling it home was too generous a definition.

The lieutenant’s frown returned with gusto as she retracted the carafe from the ancient coffeemaker and found it woefully empty.  She shoved it back under the nonexistent drip and pressed her hands against the edge of the battered laminate countertop.  Riza leaned into the solid surface and watched an empty styrofoam coffee cup topple over and roll across the crumb-laden workspace.  An empty cup was the perfect metaphor for her state of being.

Everyone wanted to drink the coffee she made every morning. No one wanted to brew a second batch when the first one ran out.  Though honestly, Riza knew that caffeine wouldn’t fix what ailed her.

Her outburst had not been caused by Fuery’s radios or Breda’s sass.  Neither Falman’s placid pleasantness nor Havoc’s tall tales reached the root of Hawkeye’s irritation.  Not even the colonel was to blame for Riza’s foul disposition.  In fact, she envied her coworkers for their vices and wished that a possession, a stiff drink or a meaningless fuck could fill the void for her as it did for countless others.  For the first time in a long time, Riza Hawkeye felt hollow, as empty as a drum with no way of holding on to the feelings that mattered, the ones that made her feel alive. 

“Need a hand?” queried a deep voice from just behind the first lieutenant.  Riza didn’t need to see who had followed her, but she turned toward him all the same, pivoting along the edge of the countertop to face her bed-headed superior.

“I didn’t know you needed a refill,” she said, somewhat sheepishly.

“I don’t,” Roy replied.  He approached the coffeemaker and discarded the used filter without meeting his subordinate’s gaze.  “Would you believe I came to check on you?”

“More like you lost the best two out of three with Havoc,” Riza retorted with more than a trace of ire. 

“Incorrect,” Roy stated plainly.  He scooped a copious amount of coffee grounds into a new filter.  “I’m pretty sure that our boys wouldn’t want to get within 50 feet of you right now, especially Havoc.  So it falls to me to find out what’s eating you and to discharge you of your weapons if I see fit.”

Riza’s sharp eyes fixated on a particularly mundane scuff mark on the tile floor.  “A little burnt out, sir.  That’s all.  I won’t let it happen again.”

“That’s bullshit, lieutenant,” Mustang interjected with controlled concern.  He refilled the carafe with water from the nearby sink and poured the contents into the coffeemaker.  “Retreat isn’t in your wheelhouse.  Neither are snarky remarks or unnecessary coffee breaks.  And if you don’t tell me, I may just have to search your person for firearms.”

Riza couldn’t help but smirk at his thinly-veiled innuendo.  She was 95% sure he was kidding.  90%, maybe, if she took into account the sly glint in his obsidian eyes.  “And what would your weekend woman have to say about that, Colonel?”

“Nothing,” Mustang stated seriously.  “My only rendezvous this past weekend was with one of Madame’s ladies.  Vanessa was passing information to me from Central.  General Grumman asked me to attend a meeting at Central Command, and I wanted some intel about the lay of the land before I head up tonight.”

“That’s…”  Riza stumbled over her thoughts. Good to know?  A relief?  “… Not my business, sir.  As I said, I’m just…”

“It could be your business,” Roy stressed meaningfully.  “I’ve meant to ask you to come with me.  I’d get lost in Central Command without my irreplaceable subordinate.”

“You don’t need…”

“I want you to come, lieutenant.  Assist me during the day.  Grab some dinner and a drink in the evening.  We’ll be back by Saturday afternoon.  Getting out of East City might do you a world of good.”

Riza felt the tips of her ears burn as she considered the impromptu business trip with her superior officer.  “I couldn’t possibly leave the team if you are going to be out the office.”

Roy laughed.  “It’s one day, and the paperwork will be here for you to check when we get back.  Come with me, Riza.”  Roy said her name softly, and his timbre sent shivers up her spine.  “Do I have to make that an order?”

Though she knew he was joking, Riza’s pulse thrummed in her throat as she searched for something to say.  When she spoke again, the steadfast markswoman surprised herself.  “Ok.  When do we leave?"


	2. Home

**Day 5:  Home**

They traveled to Central on a red-eye train.  Mustang sat up in the dining car while Hawkeye caught forty winks in her superior’s pre-booked sleeper cabin.  Lieutenant Hawkeye protested the arrangement at first, but the colonel dismissed her concerns with a careless wave of his hand.

“I should have asked you to come before I booked my ticket,” he said.  “And I planned on staying up to review the general’s memoranda anyway.  Besides, you’ll need the rest to keep me on the straight and narrow tomorrow.”

He hadn’t been wrong, and come 5 o’clock, Riza was grateful for her shut-eye, however fitful it may have been.

The day was a cavalcade of meetings, sprinkled with postured small talk and gratuitous hand-shaking.  After seeing her superior in action, Riza thought Grumman had been smart to send Mustang in his stead.  Bureaucratic dealings were not within Riza’s natural milieu, but she could appreciate the colonel’s proficiency as she watched him recall the names of countless officers and spout off statistics about the Eastern Division’s agricultural growth on less than three hours sleep.

For her part, the lieutenant did what she best at.  Riza navigated the endless corridors of Central Command with ease, holding files and color-coded reports for her superior.  She stood a hairsbreadth behind him, just to his right collecting paperwork and exchanging knowing glances during tense conversations.

In some ways her training as a sniper prepared her to be the Flame Alchemist’s adjunct.  Hawkeye was silent but attentive, cautious though capable of swift action.  She read the room like an experienced spotter.  Who was angry?  Who was anxious?  Who would agree for the sake of moving to the next topic?  Then, ever faithful, the Hawk’s Eye communicated her findings to Roy, giving him ammunition for the kill shot.  As for their results, suffice it to say, General Grumman would be pleased.

“Nice work today, lieutenant,” Mustang said through a stifled yawn as he collected his coat and made for the nearest exit.

“Not too shabby yourself, sir,” Hawkeye responded.  “Central Command suits you.”

“Maybe,” he offered with false modesty.  “You know I grew up in Central before I started my apprenticeship.  Feels nice to be close to home, even if I was just working.”

Riza fell silent for lack of anything interesting to say.  Home was a hard concept for the lieutenant to grasp owing to both her dysfunctional relationship with her father and the nomadic lifestyle she’d adopted since his death.  Back in East City, her apartment was littered with cardboard boxes, expired Xingese takeout and barely used furniture.  The only traces of individuality were the yellowed curtains left by a prior tenant and the perpetually wrinkled bed sheets on Riza’s modest full-size bed. 

In fact, it didn’t matter where Riza laid her head to rest.  Much like Mustang, Hawkeye hadn’t slept well since before the war.  She tossed, turned and startled awake when the screams invaded her head and swallowed the potential for a good night’s rest.  More often than Riza was willing to admit, she found herself awakened by the sound of her own voice, drenched in sweat and shaking like a leaf.

“I know I promised you dinner and drinks,” Roy added, pulling Riza from her unpleasant thoughts, “but would you mind meeting a little later, say nine this evening?  I’d like a shower and a lie-down before showing you the town.”

“You don’t have to entertain me tonight,” Riza replied with a concerned expression.  Roy held the door open for her as the stepped out on to the streets of Central.  “I’m sure I can find dinner on my own.”

“Fair enough.  But I’d like to spend some time with you,” the colonel stated frankly.  “Outside of work we don’t talk much anymore.  And I realize there are reasons for that, but I thought tonight we could relax the rules, even just for a drink or two.  I know a place where we won’t be bothered…  You could bring Elizabeth.”

Hawkeye’s first thoughts were not kind.  Elizabeth was a loaded concept.  Often, Riza wondered if she and Roy would have been better off without the fiction Elizabeth indulged.  But the better question was how it could have been different. 

If he had not been her father’s apprentice…  If she had not chosen to follow him as a subordinate...  These fragmented thoughts didn’t have a clean conclusion.  Too much had passed between them.  Too many ifs in a situation where the only certainty was that her loyalty went beyond the bounds of camaraderie.

“Would you be disappointed if it was just me?”

Roy chuckled; however, the tone of his voice carried a bitter edge.  “There are very few things you could do that would disappoint me.”

* * *

Hawkeye relented; however, for the sake of time and metabolism, they agreed to handle dinner separately.  Once settled in her hotel, Riza made quick work of ordering off the room service menu as she fumbled through her suitcase in search of someone appropriate to wear.  Thankfully, if Rebecca Catalina had impressed one lesson upon Riza, it was to always pack a black dress and a pair of high heels, just in case.  She put them on with less than a half glance in the mirror and let her blonde hair down to dance around her shoulders.  Vaguely, Riza wondered if Roy liked the length.

 _9 o’clock,_ he said, leaving no room for argument or augmentation _.  7309 Decatur.  Ask for me at the bar when you get there._

It was only 7:45 p.m. when Riza took to the streets of Central City, and in all honesty, she wasn’t sure why she left so early for such a short walk.  Except, the sheets on the hotel bed felt too cold when she tried to sleep, and the framed stock landscape image on the back wall painfully reminded her of the sunsets she used to watch from the old oak tree at Hawkeye Manor, her father’s home.  Then, the bathroom mirror mocked the red lipstick she’d smudged across her lips, and absence felt like the better option.

What did she hope to gain from this rendezvous, and better yet, who was going to meet Roy Mustang?

Was it Riza Hawkeye, Roy’s childhood friend swinging by to catch up?  The Hawk’s Eye, the flame alchemist’s loyal adjunct?  Just a boss and his assistant knocking back a drink or two at the end of a taxing business trip.  There was nothing _too_ salacious about either scenario.  Or would Roy find a wide-eyed Elizabeth perched on the barstool of his favorite Central City haunt?  A woman ready to say the words propriety told Riza to suppress, to act on impulse where decorum counseled discretion.

For the second time that evening, Riza tabled the issue and directed her attention toward the heavens as she navigated the winding cobblestone streets.  She’d read once that fate was written in the stars, spelled out by constellations which connected points of light through tenuous bonds.  And really, the idea that her destiny was already mapped out, floating amongst a never-ending blackness, was ludicrous.  No, Riza mused as the grit and grime crunched beneath the sole of her black heel on the corner of Dumaine and Decatur, the future was unwritten, fluid and (as such) indecipherable.

Though maybe, just for the evening, she would look for it at the bottom of an empty bottle or within the satisfying flavor of something deep fried in fat.  Perhaps she could decipher the path she was supposed to take in a plume of smoke, emitted in a hot and satisfying stream from her lungs.  Or possibly the answers she sought were hidden between the sheets of a stranger’s bed, a place where she could thoughtlessly take tactile pleasure without thought of return.

Then again, maybe none of that would help, but Riza wouldn’t know unless she tried.


	3. Seasons

**Day 6:  Seasons**

The bar didn’t have a name.  The only visible mark distinguishing it from the surrounding brick and mortar was a set of filigreed numbers reading 7309.  The numerals caught the light of an overhead swan-necked lamp and winked lazily in Riza’s direction.  Despite her better judgment, she allowed the hazy glow escaping from under the door to beckon her inside.  The first lieutenant reached toward the handle of the door and pulled it open, intrigued but wary of the kind of place Roy had chosen.

The narrow space was quiet considering the day and time.  Riza rarely had occasion to go drinking, but pulling from the memory of her time at the academy, she knew 8 o’clock on a Friday was almost primetime for such delights.  Riza’s stomach turned uncomfortably as she crossed the threshold, and she realized it was too late to return to her hotel or mull around Central until the agreed hour.

Two pairs of green velvet armchairs lined the long wall divided by an overstuffed damask settee trimmed with ornate gold buttons.  Between each set of chairs, long slanted mirrors looked down upon a couple of elegantly clad women nursing fizzing cocktails the color of pale wheat.  The ladies lounged in their seats with a relaxed and confident posture that stiffened slightly when Riza passed. She perched on a padded barstool at the end of the curved mahogany bar so as not to miss Roy when he entered, despite the low light emanating from the twinkling chandelier.

“What’ll you have?”  Riza’s head turned to face the owner of the raspy alto voice, and the markswoman’s copper eyes met a set of equally intense emerald orbs.

The question, as much as the woman who asked it, caught Riza off guard.  In contrast to the pretty wisps of women draped delicately over the green velvet fabric, the female barkeep was of a solid, stout build.  Her jet black hair was secured somewhat practically to one size, flowing down her left shoulder in defined waves.  An odd pairing of diamonds and pearls dripped from her ears and neck, and her makeup (expertly applied across her aged features) showcased the strong jawline and high cheekbones of a woman who had once turned more than a few heads.  She absentmindedly flicked the cigarette poised between her nicotine-stained index and middle fingers into a crystal ashtray.

Something about the measured cadence of her speech and genteel arch of her eyebrows felt unnervingly familiar.  “I just need a minute.  I’m waiting for someone.”

“Is that right,” the woman observed rather than asked.  She took a deep drag from her cigarette and exhaled thoughtfully to one side.  “Anyone I might know?  Someone from the military, no doubt?”

Riza stiffened, sitting up straight in her curve-hugging black dress.  The scalloped edges rose as she leaned over the lacquered surface of the bar.  “I don’t think I said I was meeting someone from the military.”

The raven-haired barkeep chuckled, cutting Riza with a familiar glare.  “You didn’t have to, my dear.  You have the walk of a woman who wears boots and the straight-backed posture of a person who knows how to stand at attention.  I may be old, but I’m not blind.  Now, I’ll ask it again.  Who are you meeting and what can I get you?”

In a split second decision, Riza decided to order first and deal with the woman’s question second, but it would have been easier had she more experience with the devil’s water.  She said the first drink that popped into her head, a favorite of her father’s.  “Whiskey, neat.”

The cigarette smoking woman arched an eyebrow as she balanced the cigarette between her lips and produced a highball glass from behind the bar.  In one fluid movement, the barkeep gasped a bottle of brown liquor from the end of a shelf that nearly ran the length of the bar and poured two fingers of liquid inside the glass.  A drop or two of water completed the cocktail, much to Riza’s dismay.  The young woman had not meant to order something so austere.

“And the name?  Either yours or the person you’re waiting for will do.  You see, I come to know everyone who walks through those doors.  It’s my business to know, and your face is unfamiliar.”

“Then my name might be just as foreign.  What’s so important about a name anyway?”  Riza brought the glass to her lips, breathing in the rich woody smell of the liquid before taking a small sip.  The taste, uncut by any mellow additive, burned her taste buds, and the first lieutenant swallowed thickly as she suppressed a telling cough.  The aged lady smirked knowingly.

“Different names have different meanings, even for the same thing or person,” she explained.  “This bar, for instance, used to bear my name, but then the times changed.  And now it’s better for my circumstances to be ambiguous.  Perhaps I’ll put it back up when the time is right, when the slow season ends.  Now, I answered your question.  How about you answer mine?”

Riza knew that she could stall no longer.  “I’m Elizabeth,” Riza said, staring down into the swirling liquor in her glass.  Though truth be told, she remained uncertain of that fact.  “Waiting for a friend, Roy.”

Her answers were vague, nothing more than the bare minimum that the raven-haired woman had required.  Riza justifiably expected another round of obstinate queries and wondered how long it would take choke down her drink before disappearing into the night.  Surely, she could have left her regrets with the nosy barkeep.  Nevertheless, the aged lady laughed again, louder this time with a genuine smile.

“Well done, _Elizabeth_.  I’m a hard woman to refuse on my better days.  Most generals would have spilled their secrets in half the time, but our Roy-boy sure knows how to pick ‘em.”  She took another drag from her cigarette and smashed the remains against the bottom of the ashtray.  “Madeline,” she called over her shoulder.  One of the petite women seated against the wall rose dutifully from her chair, awaiting instruction.  “Wake Roy and tell him Elizabeth’s come over to play early.  Tired or not, I’ve taught him better than to keep her waiting.”

* * *

As it turned out, Madame Christmas was a woman who needed no introduction.  Indeed, Riza had known about the colonel’s Aunt Chris since he was a boy studying under her father.  And being a young, country girl with little access to the luxuries of life, the care packages she sent, busting with sweetly scented letters and hard candies, were an exciting oddity.  Later, when Riza learned of Madame Christmas’ profession, her enthusiasm for sugary treats diminished.

Nevertheless, as Riza leaned over the bar, resting her elbows on the hard surface with a fresh whiskey sour in hand, Riza could hardly remember why she’d ever held a grudge.  Whether as a Madame or just Aunt Chris, the aged lady was disarmingly charming and straightforward, a stalwart credit to Roy if ever there was one.  And after Ishval, well, the Hawk’s Eye could hardly decry the morals of any woman who did what she had to just to make her way in the world.

“Isn’t that a sight,” sounded a recognizable voice from over Riza’s shoulder.  She swiveled in her chair and saw Roy Mustang emerge from a door in the far left corner of the bar.  “All my favorite ladies in the same room.”

“Careful,” Chris Mustang cautioned, “what have I told you about picking favorites?  Makes it easier to get to you when it counts.”

“Relax,” Roy replied, sliding onto the barstool next to Riza.  Though he was dressed down in a pair of flat front slacks and a white shirt that she’d seen many times before, Riza found her eyes particularly drawn to the way his starched white collar shirt stretched pleasantly across his defined chest and arms.  “Like you keep saying, with the summit over you are in the slow season for a few months.”

“Yes,” the Madame replied contemptibly, “all those _good_ men are with their families either patting themselves on the back or licking their wounds.  You too, it appears.”

Roy shrugged.  “Well, to be fair, Elizabeth is only my adjunct.”

Chris Mustang’s discerning gaze left little time for Riza to react.  Instead, the first lieutenant found herself pinned to her seat as Madame’s Christmas’ emerald eyes darted between the superior and subordinate officers.  A perceptive smile, however sad, momentarily flickered across her lips interrupted by the soft tones of an entry bell, an audible cue which signaled the entrance of two male patrons.

“And this is just a bar,” she retorted with thinly-veiled sarcasm.

Madame Christmas slid her nephew a small glass of clear, bubbly liquid garnished with a lime as she turned to greet her new customers.  A beat of silence settled between Roy and Riza, and the markswoman took a deeper sip from her glass to mask the blush in her cheeks.  Surprisingly enough, the elixir went down easier than it had before.  Roy cleared his throat.

“I wonder what she means by that,” he said, fixing Riza with a disarming smile.  She marveled at easy he made it to play along, to push aside the feeling that fizzled between them.

“I think we both know, Roy.” His name fell from her lips as a question, an old spectre that followed the pair from a safe distance, hovering just outside the periphery of all except their inner circle.  They were colleagues, this much was evident, and those who knew the cold facts of their shared past might even dare to call them friends.  Still, the officers found themselves on the edge of their familiar precipice, and Riza felt the ground beneath her proverbial feet threaten to crumble.  She took a step back.

“I know I said that Elizabeth was here, but she might be too tired tonight.  A little unsure of herself and where she stands too if I'm honest.”

“You don’t have to be certain about everything, all the time,” he said softly.  “I meant it when I said I just want to talk.  I’ve gotten so caught up in fighting my way up through the ranks that I’ve lost sight of you.  Taken you for granted, maybe, by the looks of things yesterday.”  Roy shifted his gaze from Riza and took a drink from his gin and tonic.  When the colonel met Hawkeye’s eyes again, he looked more like her childhood friend than he had in years.

“Tell me, how are you?”

Riza exhaled slowly upon hearing Roy’s frank question, and though she hardly knew where to begin, her lips moved with uncharacteristic thoughtlessness.  She complained about the team’s quirks and commiserated with Roy regarding her grandfather’s eccentric whims.  Not even the wunderkind Edward Elric was spared, much to Mustang’s delight.  Eventually, somewhere between Havoc’s philandering ways and the sorry state of Eastern Command’s facilitates, the whiskey softened the edges of her coarsest complaints.

For his part, Roy listened patiently, lending credence to the lieutenant’s concerns and ordering refills each time her glass threatened to run dry. And in the pleasant buzz that lingered between contentment and intoxication, Riza’s guard left its post.  Timidly, she articulated the words that she hadn’t dared to admit to herself since she first felt the void deepen.

“I don’t think the dreams will ever leave me,” she said, “and there are some days I’m not sure I want them to.  For all the killing that happened, the least I can do is remember the mistakes I’ve made.  But lately, I don’t feel much in the long-term.  Not the sadness or the happiness.  It all spills out, and I’m stuck in suspension, waiting to spiral in one direction or the other.  Does that make any sense?”

“It’s not something I’ve experienced before,” Roy responded candidly with heavy-lidded eyes.  “Though I don’t think what you’re feeling is unique.  Ishval and... everything that happened after haunts us in different ways, but it’s just another season of life, and like Madame says, everything has a way of coming back around if you wait long enough, the good and the bad.  Perhaps your field just needs to lie fallow for a while.”

Riza nodded and chanced her next thought.  “So you still think that we’ll be called to answer for what we did in Ishval, and you’re ok with that?”

“I am,” the colonel answered with a shrug.  “It’s equivalent exchange.”

“Once an alchemist, always an alchemist,” Riza sighed.  She rested her chin against the palm of her left hand, pressing her elbow against the bar, and the fingertips of her free hand absentmindedly picked the hem of Roy’s sleeve.  Almost simultaneously, the colonel’s left hand fell lazily to his side as he brazenly ran the calloused pad of his thumb against the curve of Riza’s knee.  She shivered from the simple contact.  Suddenly on the precipice again, Riza felt her resolve crumble, but she didn’t retreat.

“I’m not sure if any good will come of this,” the lieutenant said softly though she held their intimate pose and pressed her thigh against the tempting pressure Roy created as he caressed her skin.  They’d been there before, Riza remembered, somewhat fondly, both before and after Ishval, but not since she’d decided to serve under his command.  Not physically, at least.  “I don’t think that you can make this better if we even deserve to be whole again.  You should know that.”

“If you’ll have me, however you’ll have me, I’d like to keep trying.”  Roy’s hand trailed up the swell of her thigh and rested in the small of Riza’s back.  Mustang’s eyes searched hers for permission, and Hawkeye responded with a subtle nod.  She tilted her head to match his mouth as if it was a missing puzzle piece, and their lips met on Riza’s terms for the first time in a long time.

It was fraternization; it was wrong and against her better judgment, but Riza kissed Roy anyway in the lowlight of Madam Christmas’ domain, a place where the rules seemed to bend and distort against varied shades of gray.  Not to disappoint, Roy’s embrace was altogether different than she expected.  Fueled by something other than desire, his lips moved softly, almost reverently over Riza’s mouth lavishing her with uncharacteristic tenderness. 

Together, their bodies found a slow pace, becoming reacquainted with small touches and tastes of one another.  Roy's tongue filled Riza mouth with a telltale aromatic trace of juniper berries and though alcohol had eased her inhibitions, she had acted in accordance with her own free will.  Eventually, they parted for breath, foreheads still touching, and Riza resented the loss of his mouth as she felt a familiar emptiness swell within her all too soon.

And though Riza suspected that Roy knew he couldn’t ease what ailed her, he kissed her again, endeavoring to be her oasis in the desert.  Perhaps Roy was right. The seasons of life would undoubtedly be just as volatile in the future as they had been in the past, and yet, Roy and Riza faced the future as a pair.  Hawkeye and Mustang.  The colonel and his lieutenant.  Elizabeth and her lover.  Limbo wouldn’t last forever, but Riza was in no rush to choose.

For the moment, it was enough just to be by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> I am incredibly nervous to post this fic, which isn't like me. Perhaps I will explain more when it's all up and out there. Suffice it to say, I don't usually project my own issues on other people's characters, but here, I did. I had a lot on my mind when I wrote this last week (because a couple of prominent people lost their lives), and eventually, I just said screw it.
> 
> Fanfiction is a wonderful form of artistic expression. Yes, we might be playing in someone else's sandbox, but it's not just about tinkering with another person's toys. Not for me. It's about being brave enough to but a piece of yourself on display for the fandom to consider. It's about a community sharing interests and learning lessons from one another that aren't limited to grammar, cohesiveness, flow, etc. I believe fanfiction can be cathartic, and I wrote this to prove my point.


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